If you look for tranquility, in Langtang, A small town inhabited by Tibetans who fled the snow country, We will find it. Small cobbled paths of no more than two meters wide Zigzagenaan mountain flanked by stone houses with tin roofs crossed by a metal tube that serves as chimney. You can walk slowly, Because at this altitude, 3.300 meters, Any movement faster than normal will make your breathing accelerate looking for an oxygen that our muscles need.
The peace that is breathed here is something that I would like to be able to enjoy more often in my city. Walking you are crossing with tibetans who greet you with a "" nyou loved " to whom you respond identically. Their faces are very marked by weather: Hard skins with the naked eye, dark and torn eyes. Dressed women with skirt -shaped fabrics, With a kind of pants underneath and a belt similar to a girdle they also use to store different tools. Same fabric vests, With some shawl and a beautiful braid made with that black and hard hair that characterizes them. You can see them in the afternoons, numbing on squatting, combing the long hair that reaches their waist.
The peace that is breathed here is something that I would like to be able to enjoy more often in my city
Men wear cloth pants just as robust, A kind of flannel shirts, old jackets that some tourists will have given them and some, Only some, A wool hat. We can also see North Face feathers jackets, But few. The most surprising of everything is the footwear they wear. Most have flip flops, o Women, But not wood, but of polymer.
Children are a separate case. If adults are not cold, They less. Outside can do 14ºC and go with a wool sweater, cotton scratch and crocs -type shoes, Some with socks. It is normal to see them clean with the sleeves the snacks that constantly drip them out of their nose.
Where you look you see water: waterfalls that rush from the high mountains, snowy peaks feeding the channels…
Where you look you see water. Waterfalls that rush from the high mountains, snowy peaks that feed the channels and that, Thanks to plastic pipes, Refugees manage to take it to their homes and guest house, Your main source of income.
These accommodations are usual for hikers who do Langang's trekking. You can sleep in one of them for free whenever you cines and breakfast there. You can also pay 100 Rs (A euro changes to 136 Nepali rupees) By bed or even less if you wear tent, thing only advisable for young people with a great desire for adventure and low budget. Keep in mind that temperatures, In December, can be low zero.
At sunset the shadows lengthen and the color of everything changes
The best time for me is at sunset, on 15:30, When the sun begins to go down and hide behind the mountains. The shadows lengthen and the color of everything changes. Men come back to collect firewood, a task they can only do for two months a year, The last two weeks of November and March and the first two of December and April. Women begin to prepare dinner and children play during the last hours of light. The horses walk towards their blocks, If they have them or simply graze, Like cows. It is worth walking for an hour and seeing, In addition to all this, How the fog, like every day at the same time, Go up the valley. It is like a ghost that swallows the people and, After swallowing it, Go back to where it has come.
At six in the afternoon it is already closed night. The man in the house where I stay the dinner, mushroom soup and homemade bread. Whenever I travel, I try to bring some charcercutor, Well sometimes food is repetitive and monotonous. I do not know if it is the hunger that I have or that really the Tibetan bread and the leftover make a perfect couple.
After dinner the men gather around the fire and tell stories of ancient sherpas
After dinner the men gather around the fire, With an aluminum glass with tea that the woman of the house brings. They support him in the stove so that they are not cool and tell stories of ancient sherpas, of mountains coveted by any mountaineer and their own experiences in those tops that they venerate as if any God were treated, Well, they respect them and fear. And remember, inevitably, that day when a huge detachment buried part of the people leaving several dead.
Leave later of the seven is crazy. The low temperature brushing the 0ºC. Every night the guide sees me to go out with the tripod and the camera must think that I am crazy. I suppose that he does not understand that neither the cold that makes even that icy wind that crosses you as a dagger will prevent that madman from enjoying the stars of one of his passions: The photograph.
